I am
sitting
on my bedside
as if on the edge of a cloud
at the threshold of the world
holding
on
to my cup of coffee
legs hanging over the edge
my hair dripping
my body wrapped in a towel
yet
I do not want to go
into the world
into the day
into life
I prefer
to stay
with my small pieces of sorrow
in my otherwise empty bowl
I look at them
stroke the cat
the touch is necessary
for her as for me
I know
that as I am now
maybe only she
has seen me
slowly we
start to play
I gently pull the pencil
towards me
she accepts my invitation
to join the game
telling me
not to think so much
but to feel
the
emptiness
the warmth
the humidity
the softness
the joy
it all suddenly fills me
the balls
of joy
are colourful
and make beautiful sounds
many of them can fit
into an empty bowl
I am
ready
to face the day
and it’s greyness
because the colours in me
will show the way
the fire in me
will keep me warm